


The Winter Soldier's Conscience

by bookworm213



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Homeless Bucky, Homelessness, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Lost Bucky Barnes, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, bucky trying to find himself, how do I even tag this, more characters may be added, with tiny Steve as his conscience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm213/pseuds/bookworm213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on some incredible artwork depicting Bucky hallucinating pre-serum Steve who becomes his conscience after he's freed from HYDRA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

He stares at the captain on the riverbank. Water drips from his mouth, along with the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest. 

The Asset couldn’t kill him. There was something, some long forgotten instinct screaming at him to protect, to care for. So he’d saved him, dragged him from the waters of the Potomac, despite the punishment of failing his mission.

He continued to stare at the captain, unsure of how to proceed. He was alone. He would not return to HYDRA, but he also had nowhere to go.

“We need to move, Buck.”

The voice startles him. He looks frantically for the source, for the sound that feels as old as life itself. 

There he is, standing a few feet away from him, staring at him through large, blue eyes. The man with the eyes and voice of the captain, but small, thin as a twig, and sickly. Steve.

“We need to move.” Steve repeats, walking close to the soldier. He makes a move to clasp the soldier’s hand and he flinches away. He knows this can’t be Steve, that he can’t be real and yet . . .he heeds his advice. He starts walking away from the captain on the bank. He looks to his side and sees Steve is following him, keeping up despite his small stature. 

The soldier stops only once, to set his dislocated shoulder against a tree, and makes it to the outskirts of DC. Steve stops him just outside the tree line, scowling at him.

“You are not going out like that, Bucky!” The soldier opens his mouth to respond, then realizes he will need to change clothes if he is to stay undetected in the city. He cautiously hugs buildings, staying in the shadows, until he comes across a goodwill box left outside a homeless shelter. He takes what he needs and slips behind a building to change. It’s strange, slipping off his armor, his second skin for as long as he can remember. After he slips the thick jacket on, the soldier turns to find Steve staring at him.

He glares at him. “You’re not real.” He rasps, then walks away.

He can feel Steve following him. “Of course I’m real, Buck.”

“Go away, don’t call me that!” He shouts, walking faster, ignoring the curious glances of the people around him.

Steve tilts his head. “Well someone has to watch out for you, Bucky. You think I’m gonna leave you all alone?”

He keeps walking, trying to block out the voice, walking until the sky grows dark and a hard, cold rain begins to fall.

The soldier can’t afford to soak the only clothes he has. He looks for a place to take shelter, only to find all doors closed to him. Eventually he finds an alley with a dumpster. Propping one of the lids over the ground, he huddles underneath it.

With the days exertions, it hadn’t dawned on the soldier how lost he is, how powerless he is to take care of himself without his handlers. As he sat huddled under the lid, shivering, he realized he had nothing. Just an empty mind and the memory of a man who had called him James Buchanan Barnes. 

He looks over and finds Steve is sitting next to him, his knees tucked into his chest, staring at the soldier. 

“What a sorry sight you are, Buck.”

The soldier puts his head against his knees and starts to cry. It’s too much, too much confusion and too much emotion and too much fear after being emotionless for so long. He can almost feel Steve moving closer to him, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Shhhhh, Bucky, don’t cry, I’m here, we’re alright.”

That makes him sob harder. He buries his face in his arms, trying to stop the shaking that wracks his body. But he can feel Steve there, feel Steve stroking his back until the sobbing subsides and he loses consciousness in exhaustion.


	2. Purpose

He wakes shaking and confused, but thankfully not to damp. He heaves himself to his feet and walks out of the alley. There are still tears on his cheeks, but he’s forgotten for a moment what they’re about.

Steve is still there. It doesn’t surprise him, not really. 

 

He finds the museum by accident, roaming the streets, trying to ignore Steve beside him. He’s saying he should find him, the man on the bridge. More accurately, he’s shouting it, insisting on it, making the Asset’s head pound. 

“He can help you, Buck!” Steve frowns at him, holding out his arms as if he intends to block the man’s path.

The soldier pushes past him, looking up at the colorful banners adorning the Captain America exhibit. 

It was so much, what HYDRA had taken from him. He weaves through the showcases of the Howling Commando uniforms, the artifacts, the biographies. His face is plastered on a showcase.

He was friends with Captain America. He had grown up with him, played with him. When he small, he was called Steve, like the Steve standing next to him.

“That’s you, Bucky.” He whispers.

Suddenly the soldier can’t take it. He leaves quickly, stumbles past the security line, and retches on the ground outside the museum. Nothing but bile comes out of his empty stomach. He heaves, and then sits, exhausted. Steve is sitting beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

And the soldier feels like retching again, because no, it’s not okay, what they’d taken from him, a name, a friend, an identity. 

He stumbles back to the same alley where he’s spent the previous night. He needs time to think, to take it in. He buries his head into his arms, fighting the urge to cry again. He needs to recover this identity, to learn to operate separate from his handlers. 

And HYDRA will burn for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter! I want to update this more frequently, and I promise the next chapter will be longer! :)


	3. Chapter 3

He guesses he sleeps, because when he wakes the sun is dipping below the clouds again. He sits up and looks around for Steve. When he doesn’t see him, a surge of panic wells in his chest. No, he doesn’t want to lose the one link he has to his past. But then he feels the soft rubbing circles on his back, and hears Steve’s reassuring voice.

“It’s okay Buck, I’m right here.”

The soldier breathes a sigh of relief, only to have it interrupted by a low groaning sound. He whips around, immediately tightening his hand around the one knife he’d saved from the Potomac, ready to attack. He finds no one, just a brick wall and the mouth of the alley. 

The sound comes again, and this time the soldier realizes it’s from his stomach, where a hollow empty feeling has settled. He sheathes the knife and places a hand over his belly, wondering what this could mean. Could it be more HYDRA programming, a tracking device, or maybe a kill switch? His body tenses. 

“You should eat Bucky, it’s not good for you to starve yourself for this long.”

Steve has settled against the wall of the alley, looking it him with large blue eyes, like he’d never forgive the soldier if he didn’t do what he asked.

“Eat?” The soldier repeats, his voice coming out rough and crumbly from disuse.

“Yeah, eat. I know you’ve been giving me extra food since they cut your pay at the docks, but you need to eat something! We can’t have you withering away, can we?”

Something connects in the soldier’s brain. He remembers his handlers giving him a clear substance by the use of needles. The liquid must have given him nourishment. Could eating be something similar?

At that moment a smell wafts into the alley, along with a sizzling sound. The aroma is warm and savory and rich. The soldier’s eyes grow wide and his stomach growls again. 

“So are you going to eat or do I have to force you too?” Steve crosses his arms, a frown on his face.

The soldier nods and turns toward the mouth of the alley poking his head out. Almost directly in front of him is a small metal cart, with a man behind it. The soldier watches as the man layers thick strips of meat on top of a fried egg, and layers them both onto a slice of bread. The man scrapes the grill to rid it of excess grease, then puts more meat on it, watching it as it pops and sizzles, giving off that amazing aroma.

The soldier licks his lips to rid them of excess drool. His stomach rumbles so loudly he worries it will give him away.

He watches the man and his cart, watching for a good opportunity. He can easily knock the man unconscious without any trouble. Then it would just be a matter of helping himself . . .

“Don’t you dare, Buck!”

The soldier turns, and comes face to face with Steve, who’s glaring at him. “Don’t I dare, what?”

“Steal!” Steve spreads his arms wide, as though the answer is obvious. “You’re better than that, Bucky! For years we were both starving and you didn’t steal so much as I loaf of bread! What happened to the Bucky I knew?”

The soldier grits his teeth, ready to scream in frustration. But he knows Steve is right. He’d seen the face at the Smithsonian. He wants to be Bucky Barnes again. And if Bucky never stole, then neither would he.

His stomach growls again, bringing up the question that, if stealing was no longer an option, where would he find food?

The man at his cart is turning the meat when his elbow accidentally knocks a sandwich to the ground. He curses, picks up the sandwich and dumps it into a nearby trashcan. The soldier watches this, staring at the trashcan.

Well, that couldn’t be considered stealing. Nobody wanted it.

He walks to the trashcan. The sandwich sits atop the mostly filled bin. He picks it up gingerly and bites into it. It’s slightly cold, but not too cold, and the rich flavor makes the soldier’s eyes grow wide. 

Instinct takes over. He chews and swallows, then takes another bite. He doesn’t stop until it’s finished. There’s a fuller feeling in his stomach, and he can think more clearly.

“Feel better, Buck?” Steve asks.

He nods at Steve, and something wells in his chest. Compassion, for this link to his past? He wasn’t sure. But if Steve truly knew Bucky Barnes, the soldier needed to listen to him as often as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a bit longer then I'd hoped to update this! Please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> More to come! Please remember to comment, there always responded to!


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